


death comes from on high

by secretgardens



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergent from 4x08, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Mentions of Major Character Death, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-11
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2018-10-30 19:35:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10883508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secretgardens/pseuds/secretgardens
Summary: “Close your eyes,” Luna whispers against the crook of her neck. “I’ll take you to the sea.”Or:While preparing for her final spacewalk, Raven leaves the island to help search for humanity's last chance for survival.





	1. Chapter 1

     It’s too cold to be running for her life.

Raven had saw it first once the hatch doors opened: a long, rusted barrel peeking out from behind mounds of artillery. Beneath the grime and worn olive-green paint, it’s knobs of armor and large bolts glinted at the first sign of sunlight in over a century.

Tucked away in Ice Nation territory, at first glance it looked like the same type of bunker they had stumbled upon countless times already in their search; too small to save all of them and too weathered to brave the waves of radiation that would soon roll through the earth like fog and seep into every unchecked crack in the stone walls.

Looking back on it now -- the icy wind cutting through her lungs, each step heavier and harder than the next, the trickle of blood that slips down her thigh, though the sensation fades as soon as it slides down her knee and stains her brace -- opening that hatch was the worst decision she's ever made.

She should’ve never left the island. She should’ve been preparing to launch into space to take her final breath among the stars. She should’ve never came back.

It was more than just a bunker, Raven knew that from the moment she stepped inside. There were too many pods, similar in shape to the one she crashed to Earth in, but these… they lined the walls, stained with rust, with glass doors that looked like they once slid open at the press of a switch.

They weren’t empty.

While some pods had shattered glass littering the floor around their open doors, others were sealed shut. As Bellamy brushed by Raven to scavenge, pulling apart everything he could find, Jasper lifted a hand to one of the pod doors, wiping away decades worth of grime and dust.

_“Fuck,”_

It happened all at once, in the timespan it takes to utter a single breath, and then another.

Bellamy stood in the middle of the room holding a black tarp loosely at his side. He didn’t move at first, not until Jasper uttered something -- a twisted, jumbled version of his name perhaps, laced with so much panic that it lost its original form, as if he couldn’t get the word out fast enough.  And it was then that Raven saw what Bellamy uncovered, and a second later, what stared back at Jasper from inside the pod.

They should’ve left then -- before Clarke showed up with Luna in tow; before they started to gut the place and scavenge all of the ammunition and the weapons from the walls, or any preserved food they could find.

There was no warning.

There was no growl that came from the shadows; the telltale sign of an animal ready to attack, or the soft _click_ of an age old mine beneath their feet. It didn’t emerge from the darkness in a hail of fire and brimstone, but it did hum -- a low, mechanical whir, and it was _bigger_ , so much bigger than the others.

And then Raven’s knee buckles as she runs and the snow rises up to meet her.

She can hear it. The telltale hum of an engine. It’s not far behind. If she looks, she may be able to see it emerging from the bushes. If she’s lucky, she can reach for her gun quick enough, maybe get a shot in or two before she’s staring down the other end of a rusted barrel.

A twig snaps, and Raven pulls her gun and whips around to see … not a big, hulking mass of rusted, olive-green armor with far too many weapons, but tattered clothes and wild hair.

_Luna._

“We need to run. Now,” Luna says as she grabs Raven’s arm and hauls her up from the ground.

If this was any other moment, Raven would’ve made a joke at her own expense. Because she _can’t_ run, not as fast as Luna could anyway. But she can hear it getting closer, the whirring louder, and all Raven wants to do -- despite the blood oozing from her thigh, despite the brace, despite only having one good leg -- is _run._

“Did you see them? Bellamy and Clarke,” Raven manages, one arm slung over Luna’s shoulder while a firm but gentle arm holds her at the waist as they trudge through the snow. Raven knows she’s slowing her down. It leaves a hollow feeling in her gut. “Did they make it?”

Luna stops then, chancing a glance behind them. “There’s nothing you can do for them now,” she says, then looks to the sky. “It’s going to rain soon.”

And Raven’s blood runs cold, colder than the snow beneath her feet and colder than the wind that bites at her skin, because she knows -- she knows that if her friends aren’t dead already, they will be once the black rain comes.

 

* * *

 

 

They find shelter before the first of the ashen raindrops hit the ground.

Luna collapses first at the mouth of the cave, bringing Raven down to her knees with her. It’s only then that Raven notices the blood -- black, staining the side of Luna’s shirt like a gaping hole. It’s on Raven too, smeared against her skin and clothes from when she was pressed against her.

“Shit. Luna,” Raven says, tugging at the blood soaked shirt that clings to Luna’s skin. She doesn’t protest, but her eyes screw shut as Raven pulls; the tattered rags peel up with a wet, nauseating sound of skin sticking to cloth. “You got hit.”

“I’m fine.”

She’s not fine.

Raven doesn’t need Abby there to tell her that it’s bad. She knows it’s bad. There’s too much blood, oozing from the hole below her ribs and spilling onto the ground like tar.

She can’t lose someone else today. Not again.

“Shit. Don’t worry, it’s okay. _You’re okay_.”

For a brief moment, as she furiously wipes away the blood on Luna’s skin -- it’s slippery, thick, stains her hands like coal, and she can barely see Luna’s flesh beneath it --  in an attempt to see the wound, Raven wonders who she’s trying to convince more: herself, or Luna.

In the dim light of the cave, she sees it. A sharp silver edge curved outward, poking out of torn, serrated skin, a stream of black blood trickling around it. Luna sucks in a harsh breath, and then: “Talk to me, Raven.”

“It’s shrapnel,” Raven says, pressing her hands against the wound to slow the bleeding. avoiding the metal. “It might be a small piece. I can’t know for sure.”

" _Might_ ,” Luna echoes, then looks towards the entrance. The black rain turns the white snow ashen, melting through to the mud below. At the mouth of the cave, it falls from the stalactite, and steam erupts when it drips beside them. “We need a fire.”

“We _need_ to get you help,” Raven protests, watching the black liquid seep through Luna’s fingers. “Bellamy and Clarke are still out there. Clarke can patch you --”

“Anybody who is out there right now is no longer _alive_ .” There’s a tremble in Luna’s voice that Raven nearly misses under the rocks that crunch under her feet as she rises. She stops just under the rocky roof, black ash sizzling at her feet. “And _we_ won’t survive the night without a fire.”

There’s a finality in her voice that makes Raven’s blood run cold.

“ _Kom az ste wamplei_ ,” Luna says, glancing back at Raven. “From death is ice. Azgeda nights are harsh. If we don’t start a fire, it won’t be the rain that kills you. Her eyes fall to Raven’s leg and it’s then that Raven notices the pain; the dull throb that radiates from her upper thigh and fades as it it goes further down. There’s blood on her brace -- a lot of it -- and now that she sees it, she _feels_ it.

Before Raven can say anything, Luna’s gone, her footsteps fading into the rain.

 

* * *

 

 

Luna returns minutes later, a bundle of wet branches in her arms. They clatter to the ground next to Raven.

The knot in Raven’s stomach uncoils as she watches Luna unsheathe a knife from her belt to peel away at the wet bark on the branches to reveal the dry wood beneath.

“ _It_ could’ve been out there,” Raven says, a painful hiss escaping her lips when she lowers herself to sit by the pile of wood. She can feel Luna watching her as she unhooks the straps of her brace, letting it fall to the ground with a soft thud. 

Luna leans close, close enough for Raven to see the light freckles under her brown eyes and the small dimple that forms when her lips crook upwards. “I took a chance,” she says, one hand plucking the knife from Raven’s belt, then handing it to her.

She’s caked in blood -- some of her own, some Luna’s -- it’s under her fingernails and matted to her pants and staining her orange jacket red. She aches _everywhere_ and this is the last thing she wants to do _._ But Raven scoffs and takes the knife, earning a small smile from Luna who then hands her a damp stick.

While Raven peels burnt bark off the thick branches layer by layer until the dry wood beneath is revealed, Luna’s splits a piece of wood in half and slices a line down the middle with her knife. “Small pieces. Make sure they are dry,” she says, pointing to a growing pile of wood shavings. And then, calmly: “You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?”

Raven’s knife stills. Luna never looks up from sharpening a pointed edge of a stick.

“It’s normal,” Luna continues, placing the sharp point in the groove she made down the middle of the wooden plank. She grinds it against the plank in harsh movements; Raven’s reminded of her old Earth Skills classes when they were taught how to start a fire. “All you think about is what you could’ve done to save them.” A pause. “Was he special to you?”

Finn. Sinclair. Others from the dropship that got lost along the way. Raven’s lost special people. She didn’t want to add another one to the list. But she knew -- she knew that as soon as she heard the first of the shots, that somebody was going to die in that bunker.

“He was one of the hundred,” Raven says, catching Luna’s confused look. She tries again, absentmindedly dragging the knife along the partially shaved branch. “One-hundred of our people came down to Earth first. I was a bit late for the party,” she laughs; it’s dry and heavy and lodged in her throat.

A spark. An orange ember that glows in the groove. Raven watches how carefully Luna transfers the wooden plank to the pile of dry shavings; a small, but steady cloud of gray smoke rises up as she blows on it, feeding the tiny flame.

“Things got bad for him after --” Raven stops, shaves some wood off of her branch then throws the scraps in the pile while Luna fans the growing flames. She figures Grounders have heard enough about Mount Weather for their lifetime. “He lost someone special to him too.”

Raven remembers when Jasper’s bright smiles became nothing more than dull scowls and she remembers when he traded in his signature goggles for a mug full of rum. She also remembers, more vividly, the look on his face when a hail of bullets pierced through his chest.

Her stomach churns.

“I’ve never seen somebody so scared to die and yet …” For a moment, she’s there again --  dragging Jasper from the bunker with Bellamy and Clarke while knee deep in the snow, stained red with blood. He had this surprised look on his face when he looked down to see the holes littering his chest, and his eyes widened and panic filled his eyes, as if the realization finally hit him.

“ _Oh,_ ” Jasper had said, a hand pressed to his chest. He looked up at Clarke, Bellamy, and finally to Raven; a small smile tugging on his trembling lips as if he discovered something wonderful. “ _I’m dying_.”

Then he sobbed -- a broken, strangled cry. “ _I’m dying,_ ” he repeated, quieter that time, lifting a hand from his chest and watching red drip down his fingers.

“You’re gonna be okay,” Clarke told him. But there was this panicked look in her eyes as she looked across Jasper’s body to Bellamy that said otherwise. There was too much blood. Too many bullet holes she couldn’t cover all at once. “Jasper, stay with me.”

It was as if the ice cold snow beneath her feet had somehow rooted Raven’s entire body to the spot, and she was only able to stare down at Clarke and Bellamy as they knelt at Jasper’s side. She felt like she was floating, orbiting above the Earth and watching everything unfold; there was nothing she could do but _watch_.

The mechanical whir of a turret powering down was soon replaced with the the sound of metal shifting, screeching, the hum of an engine growing closer to the bunker door.

That deafening noise alone was enough for Jasper to shove any comforting attempt Clarke was making away; for a brief second, it looked as if there was an apology on his lips. He then turned to Bellamy, a look of pure desperation marring his face. “Go. Go now, take them and _go_!”

“We are  _not_ letting you die here!”

Raven could count the handful of times she’s heard that type of desperation in Bellamy’s voice: a rough, scratchy plea that was barely audible over the droning that echoed throughout the forest.

It rolled out from the bunker, and everything went still.

They could see it through the gaps of the trees -- rusted metal, worn olive-green paint, three armored legs that arched similar to a spiders. It didn’t move.

It all happened too fast. One moment Bellamy whispered ‘ _help me move him’_ and the next Jasper groaned in pain; an engine sputtered to life, it’s metallic body rotated atop its legs in their direction and all they heard was the low rumble of the turrets starting to spin.

Jasper heaved a dry laugh, fumbling for the white MP3 player in his pocket, turning it red with his bloody, trembling hands. “ _See you on the other side._ ”

And then they run, the telltale cry of a missile being launched filling the forest. At the last second, right before Raven catches a glimpse of somebody familiar running further into the forest and before the hailstorm of bullets spray the ground, Raven looked back at Jasper just in time to see his lifeless body convulse as it’s riddled with bullets; a smile on his face.

He looked more peaceful than he had in months.

“He almost looked happy… ” Raven says, eyebrows furrowed. She watches the flames, bigger now, dance across the wood shavings. Luna barricades it in with thick branches, then meets her eyes.

“For some, the fight is all they know.” Luna lets the tall, steady flames lick at the knife she twirls, her gaze never leaving Raven. “When their fight is over, it is a relief,” she adds wistfully, then pulls the end of her shirt up and holds it between her teeth. Raven averts her eyes.

In one swift motion, Luna rips the shrapnel from her open wound and presses the scalding knife to her skin; although her eyebrows knit together, only a harsh sigh escapes her.

“Your turn,” Luna says, breathless.

Raven nods hesitantly, swallowing the lump that forms in her throat. The last time someone fished for a bullet inside her, it was pressed against her spine and without anesthesia. This time, it’s buried in her leg, and still no anesthesia.

Luna settles beside her, carefully unwrapping the fabric that covers the wound. Raven sucks in a breath as the the cloth is removed. “Relax,” Luna whispers.

Finn’s not here to hold her hand this time; to sit beside her and reassure her that everything’s going to be okay and that he’s _staying_. But it’s just Luna, one hand on the part of her thigh she can see but can’t feel while the other readies the knife in the fire.

“Luna.” Raven almost doesn’t recognize her own voice -- she’s shaking.

Suddenly the tip of the hot knife sinks into the hole in her flesh, fresh blood blossoming; it pools down her leg and drips to the dirt below. “Relax,” Luna says again, rubbing small circles where her hand rests but all Raven wants to do is _scream_. “We’re almost there.”

She sees Finn. He flashes before her eyes and he’s there with her in the cave next to Luna, holding her hand as she screams until her throat’s raw.

Luna says something she doesn’t understand, low and soothing under her ear… then Finn is gone. His warm touch fades until her hand is ice cold and before she can chase after him -- because he was _there_ , he was in front of her, he felt real, he felt _alive_ and she’d risk the black rain if it meant seeing him again -- she grabs Luna’s hand and clasps it in between her own.

Raven sees more than feels Luna freeze. But then there’s warmth; crawling over her skin as Luna’s thumb rubs circles across her hand.

“Got it.”

The misshapen bullet clatters to the ground. For a moment, there’s relief -- until Luna flips the knife on its side, and Raven braces herself again. Luna squeezes her hand a little tighter. When the searing blade touches her skin, she sees red.

 _‘I lost someone too,’_ cuts through the haze. It’s enough to drag her attention away from the molten heat pressed against her thigh, but only for a moment, because Raven swears she can _smell_ her skin burning. It clings to her nostrils and fills her lungs. So Luna says it again, louder this time: “I lost someone too.”

Raven doesn’t see red anymore. Only Luna, still knelt beside her, the knife nowhere in sight.

“Derrick.” It’s like she’s somewhere else for that brief moment. A better time. Her eyebrows knit together and her eyes flicker to Raven’s; there's a hardness to them, but then her lips pull into a frown and her voice cracks. “I killed him.”

“You loved him.”

It’s more of a statement than a question, one that she already knows the answer to by the way Luna’s eyes root to the dirt.

Raven stares at the hand still clasped between her own; traces the skin there with her thumb. It’s different from Finn’s -- warm, not a ghost of her imagination on dreary days or the crutch she needs on the nights where it seems like there’s no hope left at all. It’s soft. Alive.

“Finn was my only real family.” God, it’s been so long since she last said his name out loud, it almost feels foreign. For a second, Luna looks surprised. Raven guesses she was expecting a story about Jasper, rather than the ghost that haunts her dreams and holds her hand during rough times.

“He always _saved_ me,” Raven says, holding a little tighter. “So many times, and yet --”

“You loved him,” Luna echoes.

Growing up with Finn on the Ark, falling in love with him; it all seems as if it happened in another lifetime. A lifetime before Earth. Before Clarke. “Yeah, I did.”

“You’ll see him again,” Luna says, slipping her hand gently from Raven’s to stoke the flames. She looks over her shoulder at Raven, her hair bathed in hues of orange and gold, the flicker of fire tall behind her; a small, wry smile on her lips. “But not today. Come, keep warm. It will be night soon.”

 

* * *

 

It’s dark.

The first thing Raven notices when she opens her eyes is that there’s no flame illuminating the cave, no flicker of light casting a myriad of shadows along the walls and turning Luna’s skin golden. There’s something pressed against her mouth; that’s the second thing she notices.

“Listen,” Luna whispers, slowly removing her hand.

And it’s then she notices another thing: there’s something hulking behind the hiss of the black rain hammering the earth. Something metallic, droning…  the rain knocks against it like a drumbeat that steadily grows closer; louder, lingering just outside the mouth of the cavern.

There’s enough moonlight filtering in that Raven can see Luna sitting in the dirt next to her. She’s close, close enough that Raven can see Luna’s breath fogging in the crisp air before it fans over her skin. It drives a chill up her spine that makes her shift against the rock wall she’s leaning on.

“ _Raven_.”

Shit.

Before Raven registers the quiver in Luna’s voice, before she notices the way her lips crook downwards, and before she notices the way her body tenses as if all of the blood in her body had been replaced with ice… she notices the way Luna’s eyes widen, and how they stare right past her.

Raven doesn’t need to turn around to know what’s there. She can picture it: it’s long barrel peaking in the cave through the shield of rain while the telltale hum moves closer until it feels like there’s a generator sputtering to life in her ears.

Perhaps, if she turns around --  and every nerve in her body screams at her to, because she _has_ to look, she has to see how it _works_ from the wires down to the cogs; she needs to figure out how a weapon from Before managed to hunt them down centuries after the bombs dropped -- she’ll be able to see herself in the scopes reflection before the turrets unload into her and she sees Jasper and Finn on the other side.

 _Jasper_.

Raven remembers the way an armored body swiveled in his direction as soon as Bellamy started to drag him.

 _Oh_.

“Don’t move. It detects movement. Shit, it must've saw the flames -- ”

And Raven’s never witnessed Luna fight, but she imagines it’s fast and brutal, lasts until the winner is caked in blood and she can see this fire in Luna’s eyes as she strikes the final blow -- because she was born in blood and raised to fight -- and it’s so different than the unadulterated _fear_ that fills them when the shadow of the barrel above cascades down her face.  But there’s something else, too. Acceptance.

_“Don’t move, Luna. Look at me, look at me.”_

Raven had watched drones orbit above Luna’s head on the island and shoot down at her from the sky and she saw the way Luna adapted around the technology in the lab while talking about Praimfaya as if it’s an old friend the Earth will greet again soon, but this… this doesn’t have flesh she could puncture, or blood she could spill, and there was no legend of this kind of end in Grounder culture.

There’s only a weaponized chunk of armor, unlike anything Luna’s ever laid eyes on; and it’s got a turret aimed above her head.

“Hey.” It’s rougher this time, grit between her teeth and falling from her mouth in a puff of cold air. Luna looks at her as if it’s a reflex and God, Raven swears she can hear it’s gears turning, twisting and grinding and filling her head with screeching metal until she’s positive her brain are the cogs. And then: “Did you know? _I’m dying._ ”

Luna meets her eyes this time. She doesn’t look away, not even when the turret swings in the other direction, or when the whir of an engine fades to a low hum as the hulk of metal rolls to the cavern entrance; the black rain continuing a drumbeat against its armor.

A sigh of relief escapes Raven as she watches it disappear into the rain. “My brain’s turning to mush,” she says, easing back against the rock wall. There’s a dull pain in her leg that’s easier to ignore than the way Luna’s looking at her.

“But --”

“Do you know what spacewalking is?”

It takes Luna by surprise. Raven almost smiles at the way her eyebrows furrow, but the wind is thrashing through the trees outside and the crisp chill that sweeps through the cave leaves her pulling at the sleeves of her bloodied jacket for warmth. “Really? No Grounder stories about the astronauts?”

“No,” Luna says, crossing her arms and holding them close to her chest. “I was raised to prepare for the conclave, and only the conclave. Stories of before Praimfaya was a luxury I didn’t have.”

A heaviness settles in the air among the silence. Raven knows she wants to ask about it. She can feel it in the way Luna’s sidelong glances linger for a second too long as if she’s mulling it over.

But she doesn’t ask. She doesn’t say anything.

And then Luna’s shedding layers, clothes  --  some made of fur and others of wool perhaps, stitched carefully together with fishing nets and string. Raven’s never seen somebody wear so much, and look as if they’re wearing so little.

She peels them off her body with little effort, until she’s just in pants made of thick hide and a loose sleeveless shirt -- it reminds Raven of the type they had on the Ark, with designs on the front that have long since faded, and she wonders if Luna scavenged it from Before.

“Go on,” Luna says while expertly tying the layers together -- heavy leathery hides bound to tattered cloth, strings and fishing webs threaded through patches of armor -- until she creates a makeshift blanket. “Tell me about spacewalking.”

As the moonlight beams down from the cracks in the cave ceiling, making Luna’s trembling skin glisten, Raven’s reminded of how the Ark seemed to glow amongst the stars when she stepped out into space for the first time. _So bright._

“Um. Sure. It’s kinda weird. You’re suspended by this cord, floating,” Raven says. And in that moment she’s no longer trapped in a freezing cave surrounded by acidic rain -- she’s orbiting above Earth, weightless, with galaxies under her feet and stars above her head. “But…  despite that, I felt free.”

“Floating. Like when you swim?”

Raven laughs. A hard bellow that echoes throughout the cave and twists her stomach in knots… and then the realization sets in, a raw wave that washes over her skin and leaves her colder than she was before. “I’ve never been swimming.”

“I’ve never been spacewalking,” Luna says, then holds up the bundle of armor and cloth. It’s thick, large enough to cover them both. “We should survive the night with this.”

Raven pulls on her jacket a little tighter; she can see her breath on the air when she speaks: “ _Should_?”

Luna leans back against the wall beside Raven, a long sigh escaping her. “The last night I spent in Azgeda, I was training for the conclave with my brother,” she says, then drapes the blanket over both of them. It’s warm and heavy against Raven’s skin like a weight in her lap. “We only survived the night by using the clothes of the Ice Nation warriors we slaughtered for warmth.”

“Was it as cold as this?” Raven asks, shifting closer as she tucks her arms under the thick hide, holding it close. Luna’s skin is cold where it’s pressed against her shoulder. When she shakes her head, Raven heaves a dry chuckle. “Great. Freezing to death isn’t exactly the way I planned to go out, but alright.”

“Why are you so ready to throw your life away?”

Her words are smooth and said through chattering teeth, but they slice through her like a hot knife and chase the cold away, but only for a moment. Because Luna’s warm against her body, and she sinks in further. “I don’t want to lose my mind and just be an empty shell,” she says, letting her head fall against Luna’s shoulder; it’s almost enough to make her forget about the cold gnawing at her feet. “If I’m gonna go out, why not go out with a bang?”

“Spacewalking.”

“Figured it out, huh?” A small smile tugs on Raven’s lips. “I guess I’ll be seeing Finn soon after all.”

For an instant, Raven’s expecting Luna to try to talk her out of it like the rest of them. She’s not prepared for the onslaught of warmth that floods through her veins when Luna pulls her closer. She’s not expecting the rush of heat to chase away the icy chill in the cave as Luna runs her fingers through her hair. She’s not prepared for the way Luna whispers ‘ _you’ll be with the waves soon, but not tonight’_ softly in her ear.

“But I can’t swim,” Raven says, and God, her eyes are burning and the tears feel raw on her face. Luna’s humming softly, then with the press of lips against the shell of her ear comes: “ _I’ll teach you._ ”

“All the fish are dying, which means the water’s radiated. It’s not -- ”

But Luna rests head on her shoulder while her arms encircle her waist in a way that seems too familiar.  “Listen, Raven,” Luna says, her voice mingling with the hiss of rain.

Raven lets herself be pulled in, because her back is warm against Luna’s chest; a trickle of heat trails down her spine and swells through her. It’s almost enough to make her eyes fall closed. “I only hear the rain,” she says, voice barely above a whisper.

Luna’s fingers trail up her arms slowly, drawing circles against her skin before they weave through her fingers underneath the blanket.

“Do you trust me?”

 _Oh_. _Right…_

In that instant, she’s no longer in Luna’s arms… She’s on the Ark, with messy braids in her hair and a time-worn backpack slung over her shoulder. Finn’s shorter than she remembers, his cheeks chubby and his lunchbox empty. “Eat up.” he says as they sit beside the window, watching the galaxies pass by beneath them. “I’ll bring you tomorrow’s lunch too.”  

And then he smiles a toothy grin when she looks at him in disbelief -- because nobody, not even her own mother could be _that_ nice --  and he takes her hand in his small, sweaty palm and says: _“Do you trust me?”_

“Yes,” Raven says with a shaky breath, tightening her fingers around Luna’s. “ _Yes_ , I trust you.”

“Close your eyes,” Luna whispers against the crook of her neck. “I’ll take you to the sea.”

And when Luna begins whispering melodies in her ear  -- a soft string of breathy tales about shimmering, emerald waves and a sea so everlasting and mysterious it makes her feel naked underneath the entirety of it all -- it reminds her of the vastness of space.

Raven can feel herself floating, weightless; but it’s not water that laps at her skin and keeps her afloat… it’s stars. She’s surrounded by galaxies that pass by her in waves, constellations that get caught in the undertow like briny seaweed; when the cosmos shifts from ebony to cerulean… it’s not the Ark’s cord that keeps her suspended in space.

_“Can you feel them… the waves?”_

Although there’s nothing but the cold hard ground beneath her, Luna breathes a world into her ears so vivid she can almost feel it: the sun on her face, the salt on her skin, the current pulling her out further into the rippling waves beyond and Luna’s pressed against her back, arms securely around her waist.

“I can feel it.”

“Good,” Luna hums, lips brushing her shoulder, and God, Raven swears she can feel the ocean breeze against her skin in that dim, dark cave. “Swim with me.”

“Luna, I can’t.”

But Luna squeezes their fingers together a little tighter and presses a little closer. “Relax, Raven,” Luna says, then stretches out her arms, their fingers still weaved together. “Relax. Follow me.”

Raven’s eyebrows furrow when Luna guides her arms, gliding them gently through the crisp air, but as she continues whispering softly, the ocean springs to life between her fingertips; her arms swaying in the water.

The water is warm, but Luna’s warmer. So much warmer; pressed against her back while she breathes stories of the sea against her ear and her lips trail down to her shoulder where she tells her _:‘swim with me.’_

She’s not expecting the shaky breath that escapes her when soft lips press against the curve of her neck, or the heady way her body lurches back against Luna in the water. It feels too familiar, she can almost feel the ghost of Finn’s lips where Luna hums melodies against her skin.

Oh…

‘ _Raven?_ ’

But it’s not Finn. And the soft current is no longer lapping at her skin. There’s whirlpools of fire pulling her in, setting her body ablaze and she can’t escape the scorching wave that twists in her gut because Luna’s breath is hot on her neck, burning her skin as it washes over her. And Raven can _feel_ Luna behind her; every curve flush against her, the involuntary sway of her hips in the water like silk coiling around every inch of her flesh until she can’t move.

_“Luna, we need to sto --”_

The cold returns too quickly. It numbs her toes and chases away the ocean, leaving only the dirt beneath her. But despite the icy chill of the cave, she can still feel the warmth of Luna at her back, and an ache between her thighs she hasn’t felt since Wick.

“Raven?”

“I’m _fine_ ,” Raven says, fumbling to stand. Even across the cave, the cold nipping at her exposed skin, she can still feel it: the frenetic way her skin ignited at the touch of soft lips, leaving her breathless with old memories of gentle hands and open mouths caressing every spot. But there’s also something different this time in her mind, something unlike the hard, scratchy bodies she’s used to -- there’s wild hair curtaining around her, a kiss bruising her searing lips, and a slick velvety body with all of the same dips and curves moving atop of her -- it roots her to the spot. “I’m fine,” she repeats, shakily.

 _Fuck_.

“You’re not fine, and you know it.”

Becca’s voice cuts through the fog, driving the heat from her core and replacing it with ice in her veins. “Time is running out. Your brain is being overstimulated. You need to get back to the island,” she says, her voice lost to Luna’s ears. “You could be wrapped up in _stars_ , why waste what little time you have left trying to find shelter?”

“I could still _help_ . Just because I’m dying doesn’t mean they have to,” Raven says, voice echoing throughout the cavern. She can feel Luna’s eyes boring into the back of her skull, and she’s about to explain -- it sounds insane, there’s a code in her head, it’s destroying her brain, and the first commander is now a figment of her imagination who _talks_ to her -- but Becca steps closer and her words sputter and die in her throat.

“The black rain doesn’t affect her.” Becca points to Luna, adjusting her glasses. “She could leave and find help. She doesn’t want to save anybody. You’re wasting time trying to be the hero.”

Raven chances a glance back at Luna who stares back with worried. Despite the pounding in her head and Becca’s voice in her ears, Raven swears she hears her name tumble from Luna’s lips. “She saved me,” she argues, voice barely above a whisper. “Once the rain stops, we go back to the island. We find a way to survive. And _then_ I’ll get my spacewalk.”

Luna’s voice cuts through the haze like a knife, louder than Becca and louder than the ringing in her ears: “If by tomorrow your friends are still alive, do you plan on keeping me prisoner if I refuse to let them take my blood?”

Everything goes still, and then Becca is gone, carried away with the rain by the whistle of wind.

Raven’s reminded of Mount Weather. She remembers how the chamber smelled like copper and rust and how the stone wall was cold against her back and how the ropes around her wrist chaffed her skin; she feels more than remembers the excruciating pain of the drill piercing her skin, making her scream until her throat became raw.

“No, no. There’s got to be another way. If only this fucking rain would stop we could -- ”

A crunch of gravel comes from behind her, then a warm and heavy weight is draped over her back. “Come. You’re shaking,” Luna says, adjusting the makeshift blanket around her shoulders, it’s loose threads of worn fabric tickling her neck. After Luna slowly guides her back to the cave wall and holds her close, it’s only then Raven notices the trembling stop.

Luna doesn’t whisper about the sea this time -- there’s no stories of the deep fanning over her skin in warm puffs of air -- but she does loosen Raven’s ponytail, letting her hair fall down her shoulders. As she runs her fingers through it, Raven’s eyes fall shut, the ringing a little quieter, and she asks: “why did you stay?”

“Back on the island, you told me that there were still good people,” Luna says, weaving strands together until she’s created a single braid. It reminds Raven of the kind Adria had. “You were right.”

Raven turns in Luna’s arms, the chill nipping at her skin where the blanket slides down her shoulders. Luna’s eyes narrow. “ _Then why_ … why don’t you help us?”

“Not everybody is worth saving.”

Her voice sends an unpleasant shiver down her spine that has nothing to do with the weather.

“You know the darkness,” Luna continues, breath catching in her throat as the strong breeze seeps through the cracks and crawls over her skin like ice swelling across the water. She fixes the bundle of cloth and woven armor around Raven’s shoulders. “Same as me. But you’re willing to risk it all for them…   _why_?”

“Because I’m awesome. Super Raven, off to save the world… ” Raven hisses through chattering teeth. Before the next gust of wind, she tugs Luna’s arms around her and holds her close; the warmth that blossoms is enough to make her forget about how she can’t feel her toes. “And off to die with a bunch of already dead rocks. I can’t go out with a bang unless I know I did everything I could to save them.”

“And what if it’s too late and Praimfaya destroys everything?”

“Then we would’ve exhausted all our options. And I’ll ride out the end of the world from space,” Raven says. The moonlight is filtering through the cracks; there’s an orange hue to the sky that wasn’t there before. “I’ve always liked a good explosion.”

There’s a heaviness in Luna’s voice when she speaks next, a darkness -- something that tells Raven she’s not just the soft pull of the current against the shore, but rather the calm before the storm; ready at any moment to unleash a destruction that could wash away cities or bring men to their knees: “Once _everybody_ that deserves to die is _cut down_ and there’s nobody left to save… I want to know how it feels to float… without the sea beneath me.”

Raven drowns the doubt that swells within her with the press of Luna’s warmth. But before the heat emanating from Luna’s body completely chases away the thought, she allows herself to wonder just how deep Luna’s darkness goes.

_Was it as deep as Finn’s?_

“Seriously. You wanna spacewalk?”

She feels Luna’s nod on her shoulder. It fills her with more dread than it does excitement.

“You’ll need a suit… which means double -- no, triple -- the components I have now and I’m already scraping the bottom of the barrel, and we only have one week. Shit.” Luna’s fingers brush her hair to the side and her lips fall to the nape of her neck. It’s intimate, calming; the drumbeat in her skull simmers down to a dull throb. “Why do you want to _die_ with me?”

“My blood is a curse that Clarke thinks will save your people. A world full of Natblida would be worse than Praimfaya.”

When Luna untangles herself from Raven, she doesn’t protest.  The first time she walked among the stars, Finn had been watching her from the Ark; _would the last time be with Luna?_ She lets the cold rush through her -- stinging the skin Luna’s body once covered and she wonders if she’ll feel the frigidity of space filling her lungs before her last breath -- but it’s short lived, because Luna is beckoning her, patting the space beside her where she lays on the hard gravel, and Raven misses the warmth.

“Floukru have burials at sea. We let the waves carry our souls to the next life. _We float,_ ” Luna says as Raven falls beside her. Her words brush against the shell of her ear. “Sleep, Raven. I’ll keep watch.”

And when her eyes finally drift closed, she dreams of galaxies caught in the undertow and black blood marring a familiar body and words laced with vengeance echo in her head as the Earth dissolves into carnage.

When morning comes, it’s not the sun bleeding in through the cracks that wakes her, or the warmth that’s missing beside her -- but she can still feel traces of it tingling her hips where strong arms held her close throughout the night -- it’s voices.

Before Raven sees Bellamy and Clarke and before she learns about the Second Dawn bunker that Jaha discovered in Polis; before she hears about the impending conclave, she sees the wicked smile that graces Luna’s rosebud lips, and it’s then that Raven sees the darkness.


	2. two minutes.

Surrounded by candles sits a small hole in the floor.

This time there’s no open metal maw beckoning her inside a dilapidated room that houses an ancient, secret government weapon. There’s only a ladder that descends into a labyrinth below; humanity's salvation.

Octavia stands at the foot of the temple, donning black, thick streaks across her face while Indra holds the jar of paint in steady hands. Despite the slight tremble of her hands as she coats her face in a way that reminds Raven of the shadows that cascaded down Lexa’s face, any lingering trace of the girl from beneath the floor is gone; replaced by a warrior, brimming underneath her charcoal warpaint as if she’s been apart of the ground all along.

And then she turns to Bellamy and the warrior is vanishes -- or maybe the bloodlust fades -- but Raven knows that if she got close enough she would smell of the damp earth after rainfall, even though the nervous, lopsided smile she wears for him makes it seem like, for a moment, she was only his little sister. 

“It’s time.”

She doesn’t watch them say goodbye for what could be the last time. But she catches the way Bellamy clenches his jaw as he stares past the crowd Octavia pushes through and she wonders if he had said _everything_ he wanted to say before Gaia called her name, adding her to the list of people that could die today in the Conclave.

“Don’t worry,” Raven says, placing a hand on Bellamy’s shoulder. When he looks at her she notices the dark circles embedded beneath his eyes and she supposes the Earth has taken a toll on all of them in it’s own way. “She’s strong.”

But then a flash of familiar wild hair darts by, shoving through the mass of armor clad bodies with a look of absolute rage maring her face.

Luna’s footsteps are thunderous as she climbs the stage, but when she speaks, her voice laden with the unbridled rage of her lost clan, there’s enough anger within it to set Polis aflame, scorching it down to the bare, grassy earth it was built upon.

And Raven can almost feel the flames prickling at her skin as Luna approaches, the symbol of her clan dangling from her neck while her earlier words echo in her ears: _“I’m Luna kom Floukru, and I’m the last of my clan.”_

“Luna, are you _trying_ to get yourself killed?”

Gone is the woman who comforted her in the cave; in her place stands a hollow shell with  unadulterated anger brimming from beneath the surface. Her eyes, darkened with bloodlust, root Raven to the dusty ground, sending a cold shiver down her spine as she brushes by. “I’m fighting for death, same as you.”

Raven’s feet move on their own. She briefly hears Bellamy’s voice calling after her, but his words are lost among the crowd as she follows Luna past guards that tower above her on stone platforms embedded into the temples side -- for a brief moment, they turn their spears in her direction, but with one sidelong glance from Luna they sheathe their weapons, and Raven realizes that underneath their burly ebony armor and thick warpaint that masks their submissive gaze, they’re not warriors at all, they’re children -- and through thick wooden doors that tremble when they close behind her.

“I’m not fighting for death. I’m _dying_ ,” Raven says, voice fading to a whisper. There’s men in thick hides and leather wearing the symbol of their clan around their necks who stare in Luna’s direction as she stands by a rack of weapons. She runs her finger tip along the bladed edge of a three-pronged spear, and if she notices their eyes upon her, she doesn’t say.  “I don’t have a choice in this. You do.”

“Dying is apart of life,” Luna replies, pulling the spear from its rack before meeting her eyes. It’s more of a trident, Raven thinks. It’s almost as tall as her but she wields it proudly as if it was crafted for her hands and her hands alone and Raven’s reminded of the stories of Poseidon she read as a child; she imagines Luna ruling over the sea, the waves almost as unruly as her hair.

“And if life has no purpose you’re dead already. Do you really want to throw that away for revenge?”

She steps closer, then. Close enough for Raven to notice how she doesn’t smell like the saltiness of the ocean anymore, but instead the smell of rain right before the storm. “Yesterday you were willing to let me walk to my death with you in space,” Luna says. There’s a fury in her eyes that reminds Raven of dark storm clouds, lightning billowing inside. “It was a plan. What changed?”

_What changed?_

“I don’t want to die alone,” Raven breathes. When she took her first spacewalk, Finn was there, his eyes a constant reminder that she wasn’t alone -- she was safe, even if wormholes and galaxies surged beneath her feet -- or lost among the stars, because he was there watching her. And Raven thinks, when she takes her last breath she doesn’t want to know what the hollowness of space feels like as it fills her lungs; but she wants to feel Luna’s eyes on her as the stars come in waves and guide her home, wherever that may be, if it existed at all.

“I thought I did. But then I thought about it… _I don’t want to die by myself._ ”

Luna smiles, lips crooked upwards the tiniest bit, though it doesn’t clear the storm clouds from her eyes. “I don’t plan on dying today,” she says, and for a moment, Raven almost believes her. But then a harsh, deafening bellow sounds through the air and there’s warriors lining up for the slaughter at the horns tone. It’s starting.

She’s about to take her place and the gates are about to open, but Raven’s hand on the medallion around her neck stills her. Something flashes in Luna’s eyes -- something quick and mysterious and it causes Raven to pull her hand back as if she’s been burned, or maybe it’s because the air between them turned electric; the storm clouds opened, lightning crashing to earth, rooting her to the spot, setting every nerve on end. “I’ll save you a seat,” she says, breath hitching in her throat.

“You may not be saying that once I’m forced to kill your friends.”

And in the time span it takes for her to recognize the feeling -- when Finn began leaving her notes folded up in the shape of birds on the lunch trays he stole for her, she felt it all the way down to her toes, prickling, like lightning striking every cell in her body -- the heat coursing through her body turns to ice. “You’re not really gonna try to kill Octavia, are you? You can’t --”

Raven thinks of Bellamy. She thinks of the way his hands continued to shake long after he held Octavia close for what could be the last time, and she thinks of the way he paced back and forth in the small temple room, haunted by words left unsaid. Before, Indra had seen Bellamy with a gun in his hand as he mowed down her people in a hailstorm of bullets, but she had never saw him break. " _She’s all that’s good in me._ She's my little sister. It’s my _job_ to protect her and if she dies out there, _I failed,"_ he had said. _  
_

“ _Anyone_ who is left standing on this battlefield will not be alive by tonight,” Luna says, then moves to the gate. Raven can almost feel the vibration of battle thrumming on the other side. The clamor of metal colliding against metal sounds out, followed by a scream. She throws a glance over her shoulder, and once again, Raven’s reminded of Poseidon; how the sea can be calm and beautiful but also ruthless and catastrophic and Luna will sink ships and conjure storms if it means she’ll be victorious in the end. “It’s not personal.”

When Luna pushes open the doors, Raven catches a glimpse outside. There’s blood marring the battlefield, staining the dirt crimson, and next to the entrails that spill slowly from the gaping hole in his body sits a man trying to hold them all together; his intestines slip through his fingers like water, pooling around the sword that lays at his feet. When Luna steps out and encircles her blade around his neck, cutting deep while she murmurs something lost to her ears, Raven retches.

The last thing she sees before the doors close is Luna, the man’s necklace dangling from her fingers.

* * *

 

“You’re running out of time.”

The voice comes to her at dusk, when the sun begins to set. If this were any other time, Raven would think Polis is beautiful; the view from the tower lets her see across the land as the shadows chase away the sun, and she imagines the city brimming with life, but instead of merchants selling artifacts from the old world, or the hustle of carriages and civilians and trader, or warriors returning home from battle, Becca’s voice fills her ears and the streets are empty and the metallic smell of blood filters up from the arena. So much blood.

_"I Know."_

Becca’s white lab coat looks out of place among the drab stone walls of the tower.

“Are you _really_ wasting what little time you have left watching the sunset?” Becca asks, leaning against the rusty railguard. Raven can see the reflection of the sun in her glasses. It’s different, not the color it’s supposed to be; the deep orange hues have been replaced by an angry red that seems to set the sky on fire. Raven thinks it’s fitting. “The view from space would be --”

“Better, I know.”

A hand comes to rest on her shoulder; gentle, almost a ghost of a touch,  but with just enough pressure to urge her away from the platform. “You’re waiting for her,” Becca says, and there’s something about the way that her eyebrows raise and her lips purse that remind Raven too much of the woman in the red dress. “Haven’t _enough_ people died? Why add one more to the list?”

Something else pulls Raven away from the battlefield; something that pulls on her heart and stands behind Becca with a familiar face and a bloodied shirt. And suddenly she can’t tell if the metallic smell that hangs heavy in the air belongs to the corpses strewn across the battlefield, or the gaping hole that pierced through Finn’s chest so long ago.

He smiles at her, his hand outstretched, beckoning Raven forward as Becca steps aside to let her pass. In the back of her head, a mantra plays: “ _Nobody else has to die._ ”

Raven’s knees buckle when her hand brushes his. The ghost that haunts her dreams, a presence she’s been chasing since his death… it has warm hands, brimming beneath her fingertips.

“It’s time to go.”

Becca’s voice cuts through the fog, bringing with it the cold reminder of where they stood: on the brink of a battlefield, marred with the blood of warriors who took their last breath alone to the sound of footsteps walking away triumphantly, their sword coated with the blood of a dying man.

Raven briefly wonders which one Luna is. 

“But I’ll be alone.”

Then Becca smiles between the two of them, a smile that Finn meets and mirrors almost perfectly. And Raven knows that Finn is dead, turned to ashes by Grounder tradition, but his fingers are warm, beckoning, as he wordlessly leads her towards the staircase. And it’s then Raven realizes she’s no longer chasing the ghost he left behind in her mind when he died; for just one moment as she imagines dying among the stars with him by her side like before all of this, that’s enough for her.

“Not this time.”

His fingers entwine with hers in a way that reminds her of when they were kids. He’d lead her down twisting corridors and winding steel hallways -- an adventure, he called it -- until they’d arrive at the airlock. “ _You missed class today_ ,” he said once as they sat in front of the metal door. “ _We learned about the astronauts. They used to spacewalk, did you know that?_ ”

The stairway is narrow and seemingly endless, similar to the long corridors on the Ark, but instead of the cold, steel walls, there’s worn stone; it’s lit up by torches that spiral the whole way down. As they descend, the flames licking close to Raven’s skin, his thumb feels like a passing breeze where it rubs circles against her hand. Cold. It drills a shiver down her spine.

“Hey. Finn,” Raven urges. No response comes. There’s only the gentle sway of his hair as they reach the bottom. An open room bathed in candlelight, silent save for crackle of flames, with pillars that soar high above and melt into the shadows of the stone ceiling. Raven figures it’s the main hall; what’s now covered in moss, and decay, she imagines was once tiled with the most expensive of stone down every connected hallway, with ornate pictures of important men and women from Before hanging on mosaic walls. Finn stops at the open wooden door with his arm outstretched to her, an inviting smile on his lips that feels different than before and the winding pathways of Polis at his fingertips.

“Are you ready, Raven?” Becca asks.

The streets of the city are dead. With the civilians tucked away in their homes or watching the Conclave, there’s no life bustling throughout the streets, no warmth. Her stomach churns because Finn’s smile doesn’t match the ones in her memories, there’s nothing but ice in the eyes that stare back at her and a steady beat pounds against her skull. And then -- there’s chanting.

Chanting that reminds her of the eerie calls she’d hear from the forest back when she first landed, intimidating and taunting and a daily reminder that death lurked behind every shadow with warpaint and a spear. Only this time, there’s no bloodlust, only a voice that lists the names of the fallen and others echo it with cracked, broken voices: “ _\-- of Broadleaf_ , _Guara of Podakru_ , _Fio of Trikru, Illian of Trishanakru, Mezi of Shadow Valley, Roan of Azgeda…_ ”

A warcry sounds throughout the ruined city, reverberating off of the stone walls and broken pillars now soaked with black rain -- Raven knows exactly who it belongs to. She heard it once before, through the crackle and static of the radio as Octavia became one with the Grounders as they marched toward Mount Weather. 

The chanting from down the hall comes to a halt at the scream. All Raven can hear is the hiss of rain, and the sound of her own heartbeat slamming against her ribs. She waits. It reminds her of the cave, of Luna, of those tortuous seconds they endured of absolute silence as they waited for all Hell to break loose and shatter it.

It took two minutes. One minute until the voice returned, and another minute for Raven’s knees to hit the ground.

“... _Luna Kom Floukru._ _Yu gon plei ste odon._ ”


End file.
